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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29128878">Sickfic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookmoon/pseuds/Rookmoon'>Rookmoon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shall We Date?: Obey Me!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beel does his best, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, I'm too tired for this right now, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sick Character, Sickfic, Work In Progress, reader gets sick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:20:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29128878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookmoon/pseuds/Rookmoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You're sick as a dog and Beel is tasked with taking care of you.</p><p>It goes better than you thought it would.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Beelzebub/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Obey me! Because I am sad</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sickfic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work isn't finished yet, I've just been busy and writers block is a bitch</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As soon as you wake up, you know something is wrong. Your head spins as you sit up in bed. The floor sways beneath you as you pull yourself out of your blankets and to your feet. You stagger to the closet and lean aching arms onto the sturdy wooden frame and will your head to clear like that will help you get downstairs in time for breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fog of your headache throbs and you slowly lower yourself to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looks like you're not going anywhere for a while. In the back of your mind, you how that there's something light for breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your D.D.D. buzzes, and you manage to reach it from your spot on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. It's your calendar. You open your schedule and your stomach flops uncomfortably at the multicolored sight of your day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can't afford to be sick right now. There's a full schedule waiting for you, but experience says it'll only get worse if you push yourself in this state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You groan as you think about the last time Mammon tried to get out of his studies claiming he was sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucifer had called him on it immediately since demons rarely get sick - when they do they usually end up in a hospital pretty quickly- and strung him up in the rafters for a couple hours as punishment after poor Mammon was frog marched to class. He missed a sale he was looking forward to because of the whole thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don't think you could handle rafters, and the thought of puking on Lucifer while doling out his favorite punishment would only make it worse on you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dizzying pain pulses through you and you realize you're more or less stuck in your room until someone comes to help you.</span>
</p><p>---</p><p>
  <span>The cold floor doesn't do you any favors, so you grumble your way back to the welcome warmth of your bed. You'll take whatever punishment you need to when you're better. Until then, Lucifer could stuff it for all you care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, humans get sick every now and then. It sucks but at least you know what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You would wonder if the guys would know what to do, but thinking hurts so you just lay there, trying to muster up the energy to swathe yourself in blankets and sleep for as long as you can manage before either a demon wakes you up or a headache does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, this doesn't last long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right when you manage to pull your much heavier than earlier blankets back over you, someone knocks on your door. You're pretty sure it's Lucifer, here to know why you're not downstairs already, if the sharp knock is anything to go by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don't have enough energy to talk loud enough for whoever it is to hear you, and getting up again isn't an option. Instead, your style for waiting for one of the brothers to lose patience and just walk in like usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door stays closed until you hear Mammon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're always up by now. I'm tellin ya, somethin's wrong." He says. "Ah, fuck it. I'm goin in."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, your door creaks open, revealing your room and you haphazardly flopped in bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shit." Mammon looks around the room before his eyes settle on you. "That don't look good." He steps closer, his feet loud against the wood of your bedroom floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sharp footsteps that could only belong to Lucifer cross your room, and you feel a blessedly cool hand press against your forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A whimper leaves your lips like a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They're burning up." Someone says. At this point, you can't tell who it is, and you don't really care as long as you get that sweet relief. "They won't be able to attend to their duties like this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then I'll stay here and take care of em."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You won't. You can't afford to skip class."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can't do it either." Mammon </span>
  <em>
    <span>tries</span>
  </em>
  <span> to whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucifer hisses at him to be quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then I'll find someone who can look after them. Surely someone has a free day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll ask the others." Mammon dashes out of the room before Lucifer can say anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all your exhaustion, you don't find out who the brothers convinced to look after you. You hear distant chatter from the darkness of sleep, but nothing other than that. It's easy to brush off, so that's exactly what you do to let yourself drift further off where nothing hurts and you can breathe through your nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you make your way back into the land of the living, you find that the headache has only gotten worse. Your throat itches and you couldn't move your arms if you tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You surrender to the terrible feeling in your limbs and close your eyes. Keeping them open takes more effort than it's worth right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Careful fingers card through your hair as you rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to care who it is right now, so you just humm and lean into the cool fingers brushing over your forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain flashes in your chest, and you curl into yourself to cough hard into the many blankets you’ve got on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time you're done hacking up a lung, a chair is lying broken on the floor, and Beelzebub is sprawled as close to you as he dare get with a bowl of soup clutched in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's no spoon in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Beel?" Your throat feels like sandpaper, and you cough into a handful of blanket so you don't get sick germs everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actual puppy dog Beelzebub just looks up at you from where he's crouched. "You haven't eaten yet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He passes the soup over and you look for any… Special ingredients that you may need to look out for. It smells good though, and you're having trouble not digging in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is there a spoon?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, there was a spoon." Beelzebub looks down at his hands. "...I ate it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You resist the urge to faceplant your soup while Beelzebub goes to get you another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soup bubbles in front of you, wafting steam into your very stuffed up nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door flies open and a shining spoon is dunked into the bowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Taste it." Beelzebub waits patiently while you scoop the soup around, looking for anything not-for-sick-human-consumption.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You see nothing out of the ordinary and try some of the broth. It's not spicy, but something in there doesn't sit right with you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You lean over and see your trash can just within reach. You almost topple out of bed to reach it in time to hurl into the bin. Bile burns coming up your throat as you retch, cursing as the little strength you had melts from your bones. You barely catch Beel flinching as you heave and cough, wishing it was over already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You reach for a napkin to clean your face off with and then three more for safe measure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, Beel." You sigh, dropping the tissues into the foul smelling bucket. "I don't think I can eat right now, and... I have to take a shower."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you want help?" He asks, still uncertain as you wobble on your feet, starting to make your way over as carefully as you can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I should be fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You must not sound all that confident to him since he stands without another word and walks with you to your bathroom, asking again if you need help, and telling you to shout if you need anything at all, and sit if you need to so you don't fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Beel, I'm just sick. I'm not gonna hurt myself." You tell him through the door as you begin peeling your pajamas off and getting in the shower. You ignore almost falling over when you kick your old pants off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water is well warm by the time you make it into the shower, and having it run over you feels amazing. You don't want to move, so you take your time relaxing and washing yourself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You decide you won't tell Beel that you ended up on the floor anyways, if only because you got tired in the warmth of the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, you clamber out to find the mirrors completely fogged up as you dry and dress yourself in another set of comfy sweats and a big shirt you got from one of the brothers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beel is still by the door when it opens. You're still feeling worn out. It's better after the shower, but the air in your room stings with cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as you make your way back to bed, Beel hovers around you, in case you need some support. After all, you were found on the floor earlier, and Beel still doesn't know what he should do. As much as he wants to just pick you up, he gets the feeling you wouldn't like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don't protest when he tucks the wonderfully thick blankets snuggly around you, muttering something about carrots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he's finished, and comes to stroke your hair out of your face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You groan a little, and wiggle further into the warm cocoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your hair is wet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hnnng, jus' leave it. It'll dry."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don't see the little frown Beel gives you as he texts Solomon, the only other person he knows with experience in human sickness, if wet hair is good for humans to sleep in. You do notice when he gently pulls you to sit in front of him while he dries your hair for you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The warm air feels really nice, even if you just want to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Solomon said wet hair can make your cold worse."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I know." You fidget as Beel works, softly searching for damp spots as the dryer hums in his hands. "Thanks for looking after me, Beel."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dryer turns off, and Beel let's you melt back into the covers as he fixes your blankets and ticks you in again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not a problem." His smile is tender, and you give him a small smile before you let yourself drift off to sleep while Beelzebub plays with your hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just get better soon."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice follows you into your dream as he hums an ancient lullaby in a forgotten language.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you wake, your room is empty except for a bowl of soup that's still warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This soup is nothing like the bowl that you had yesterday, and when you take a tentative sip, you find that is familiar. Nothing more than chicken broth.</span>
</p>
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